“My good fellow,” said he at last, “I will buy your cottage of you—­for to-night—­name your price.”

I shook my head.  Hereupon he drew a thick purse from his pocket, and tossed it, chinking, to my feet.

“There are two hundred guineas, bumpkin, maybe more—­pick them up, and—­go,” and turning, he flung open the door.

Obediently I stooped, and, taking up the purse, rolled it in the coat which I still held, and tossed both out of the cottage.

“Sir,” said I, “be so very obliging as to follow your property.”

“Ah!” he murmured, “very pretty, on my soul!” And, in that same moment, his knuckles caught me fairly between the eyes, and he was upon me swift, and fierce, and lithe as a panther.

I remember the glint of his eyes and the flash of his bared teeth, now to one side of me, now to the other, as we swayed to and fro, overturning the chairs, and crashing into unseen obstacles.  In that dim and narrow place small chance was there for feint or parry; it was blind, brutal work, fierce, and grim, and silent.  Once he staggered and fell heavily, carrying the table crashing with him, and I saw him wipe blood from his face as he rose; and once I was beaten to my knees, but was up before he could reach me again, though the fire upon the hearth spun giddily round and round, and the floor heaved oddly beneath my feet.

Then, suddenly, hands were upon my throat, and I could feel the hot pant of his breath in my face, breath that hissed and whistled between clenched teeth.  Desperately I strove to break his hold, to tear his hands asunder, and could not; only the fingers tightened and tightened.

Up and down the room we staggered, grim and voiceless—­out through the open door—­out into the whirling blackness of the storm.  And there, amid the tempest, lashed by driving rain and deafened by the roaring rush of wind, we fought—­as our savage forefathers may have done, breast to breast, and knee to knee —­stubborn and wild, and merciless—­the old, old struggle for supremacy and life.

I beat him with my fists, but his head was down between his arms; I tore at his wrists, but he gripped my throat the tighter; and now we were down, rolling upon the sodden grass, and now we were up, stumbling and slipping, but ever the gripping fingers sank the deeper, choking the strength and life out of me.  My eyes stared up into a heaven streaked with blood and fire, there was the taste of sulphur in my mouth, my arms grew weak and nerveless, and the roar of wind seemed a thousand times more loud.  Then—­something clutched and dragged us by the feet, we tottered, swayed helplessly, and plunged down together.  But, as we fell, the deadly, gripping fingers slackened for a moment, and in that moment I had broken free, and, rolling clear, stumbled up to my feet.  Yet even then I was sill encumbered, and, stooping down, found the skirts of the overcoat twisted tightly about my foot and ankle.  Now, as I loosed it, I inwardly blessed that tattered garment, for it seemed that to it I owed my life.